A Special Kind of Sadness
by SSAEmilyHotchner
Summary: Oneshot. For 5 years, in the clutches of Ian Doyle, Emily has been forced to say goodbye to nearly everyone she loves. But when she is finally free, Emily finds that she's conflicted between two men from two different parts of her past. Clyde/Emily/Hotch.


**Author's Note: To be perfectly honest, I've had this story in mind since 'Lauren' aired. I have a sort of obsession with Clyde Easter's character, and now, with Sebastian Roché saying on twitter that Clyde is going to be in the last two episodes of this season, it really got my mind working about possible story lines involving Emily. Maybe I got a little carried away...but I think you all will like it.** **As always, thank you so much for reading. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters.**

* * *

**_-October 2006-_**

"You're leaving."

Emily's eyes slammed shut as she faced away from the man lying in her bed. The worst thing was that his quiet words hadn't formed a question; they had formed a statement, a hopeless, distrusting statement. Her body trembled slightly as a cool breeze blew in through the open window, caressing her bare skin. "Yes."

"And I guess I wasn't honored enough to be privy to this information? Or were you planning on telling me tonight?" Emily's silence was his answer. "I didn't think so," he murmured, obviously hurt.

"Clyde, I -"

"Why, Emily?" Sitting up in bed, the cotton sheets pooling around his waist, he frowned into the dark night. "I had to hear it from _Jeremy_. Jeremy, a man who doesn't even like me all that much; _Jeremy_, instead of my own girlfriend." He struggled to keep his temper in check. "Why?" he repeated, but this time, his voice was weaker.

Finally, Emily turned to face him. Though Clyde would be unable to distinguish in the midnight gloom that surrounded them, her eyes held a look of utmost sadness and regret as she gazed at him. She knew what he wanted; he wanted the truth, and after all they had been through together, she guess he deserved it. "I just can't take it anymore, Clyde," she confessed, her feet dragging her forward, toward him. "Just the same way that you're tired of being Lyle Rodgers, I'm tired of being Lauren Reynolds."

Clyde wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her; he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless, to embrace and love her until all her fears were long gone. "But, Em, Lauren Reynolds died in a c -"

_"In a car accident._ Believe me, Clyde, I know." Even Emily was stunned by the venom in her tone. "I know she's dead. I know Doyle is in North Korea, rotting away. And I know Declan is safe with Louise. I should be happy; but I'm not, not when I wake up every morning with a scream welling in the back of my throat because I think Doyle has escaped and is coming for me. I _know_ it's unrealistic," she said, when she noticed Clyde's thin-lipped mouth opening to speak, "but tell that to my conscience. Tell that to the nightmares." She stifled a sob, then buried her face in the crook of his neck when he gently brought her into his arms. "I'm sorry," she said frankly. "I know you won't believe me, but never once did I go into this - this job, this friendship, this _relationship_ - intending to hurt you."

"I believe you," he whispered into her hair. "I'll just miss you, that's all." He allowed her to push him back onto the bed and cover his mouth with a kiss, but he knew what she was doing; she was stalling, hiding from the knowledge that they needed to continue talking and that that he simply wouldn't be distracted, not this time. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her needy lips. "When do you leave?" _Or do I have to wait for Jeremy to tell me that, too?_

For a split second, it looked as if Emily would refuse to answer. How could she, when she knew her response would only infuriate him even more? _But he needs the truth, _she reminded herself again. It would do no good if she lied to him, then simply disappeared one day. The damage to their relationship would be irreparable, and Emily balked at the thought of losing one of her closest friends.

She sighed. "One week," she said almost inaudibly. Again, her eyes fell closed. She didn't want to see the expression on his face, or feel the grief radiating from his body. Yet, as masochistic as she was, she nestled further into his arms, curving her body around his.

"One week," Clyde echoed breathlessly, his mind spinning. It was as if a one-thousand-pound weight had collided into his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. He had hoped for at least a month, thirty blissful days of finding different ways to say goodbye. Thirty days of thinking up ways to make her stay, with him. But instead of thirty, he barely had seven. His heart dropped dangerously. "And...do you even know where you're going?"

"To be honest? No," Emily said, biting back a sad little moan as Clyde's lips attacked the base of her throat; one of the most sensitive areas on her body. "I want to go back stateside, but you knew that much already."

"Did I?"

Silence lapsed.

Clyde hung his head, whispering an apology that Emily barely heard. "Stateside," he mused. "You'd still work as a profiler, I assume." Though, now, he wasn't sure if he knew anything for certain. "FBI? CIA?"

"Both, maybe. Either. I just need an escape. You understand," she practically begged. "Don't you?"

"I don't understand anything anymore, Emily," he admitted. "I don't even understand the things I need to understand the most." But there was something about the way he said that last bit, something that sparked the tiniest hint of intrigue within Emily.

_Things I need to understand the most_, she repeated. "Like?"

Clyde didn't hesitate. "Like the fact that I'm in love with you. Like the fact that I've loved you since that case in Paris, when you and I were 'married'. Like the fact that that case was a year ago, easily, and I'm only _just now _telling you, when you're about to leave in a week," he said grimly. "And...and like the fact that you don't love me back."

"How do you know that for sure?"

A twisted form of hope rose unbidden within him. "Do you?" he asked suddenly, his voice louder than he had ever expected. The moment was almost surreal, what with the atmosphere that was thick with musk and countless emotions.

Slowly, her fingers traced a path along the defined lines that constituted his jaw. A thumb smoothed across his lips, those lips that she loved to kiss. "Yes," she mouthed. "Yes, I love you. And I didn't want to tell you, because I wanted as clean a break as humanly possible; but now the secret's out, I guess." Emily didn't realize she was crying until Clyde was kissing away her tears. "I just need a new beginning."

"And I respect that."

"Do you?"

This time, it was his turn to cover her mouth with his when he didn't want to confront the myriad of truthful actions swimming in his head. They had six more nights together; they would make each one count. _Starting now. _

And when Emily let out an impassioned cry against his lips as his hands sought out the places on her body that never failed to make her scream, Clyde knew...they were on the right path.

* * *

_**-February 2011-**_

"There's something I need to tell you, Hotch."

"Aaron," he corrected. Hotch looked up from his paperwork as Emily closed the door to his apartment behind her, and crept towards him slowly. "You only call me Hotch when things are serious," he noted, the wheels already turning in his mind. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I -" But Emily stopped the lie right then and there. Swallowing thickly, she kept trudging forward until she was sitting on the loveseat beside him. "I don't even know to begin to tell you this, but I have to; not just because you're my boss, but because..." _Because you're my lover, my boyfriend, the other half of my heart. _Her voice broke; she started anew. "In the next couple days, you might find out certain things about me that you never knew before, and they might tarnish the way you think of me, but all I can ask of you is that you try and look past that, and -"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait." A strong hand wrapped around her wrist. "Emily, what are you talking about?"

She took a deep breath. "Before I joined the FBI, I did more than my fair share of things I'm not proud of; and not just that, I did a hell of a lot of things that were meant to be kept secret. Except...one of those 'secrets' has escaped prison now." Her body shook with uncontrollable fear. "This man, this 'secret', he is to me what Foyet was to you. Only, you could never have been as involved in Foyet's life as I was in Ian's." Instantly, her eyes widened as she realized she had let his name slip. "I mean, I -"

But still, Hotch didn't understand. _"Emily,"_ he persisted. "Look at me." Reluctantly, she met his dark gaze. "Who is this Ian? You said he escaped from prison?" He was met with silence; only, the room was anything but silent, what with the sheer volume of his thoughts. "Is he after you?" he asked with sudden clarity, the muscles of his back tensing immediately.

Emily said nothing, only sniffled quietly.

It was answer enough for Hotch. "How bad?" he asked softly, his concern augmenting as Emily crumpled, exhausted, against his side. "Just how bad is this situation, Emily?"

She closed her eyes, and at once, an all too familiar feeling of leaving the ones she loved crippled her. "It's bad," she whispered. "So bad." The whisper turned into a moan. "Aaron, I need to do what I need to do, and I need at least one person to not judge me for the contents of my past. Only so many wrongs can be righted in a lifetime."

But he wasn't listening. "Are you in danger? _Answer me, Emily."_ It was all he cared about; her safety, the safety of the woman he loved with all his heart.

Emily was openly crying now. "Yes," she gasped out. "Aaron, just by telling you this, I'm putting you in danger, too. I have to do this on my own -"

"Do what?"

_"I can't put you in danger." _Desperate, Emily reached up for a kiss, crying even harder as Hotch responded with a fervor she had never experienced before. She didn't know how to explain things to him, even though she did want to. He, too, deserved the truth, yet it was more than Emily could offer. How did one summarize five years of horror and lies in a handful of minutes? It just wasn't possible.

In the end, she didn't have to say another word. Just as Emily had hoped, Hotch proved his profiling prowess with one single entreaty. "Just tell me one thing," he rasped against the ruddy, soft skin of her cheek. "Tell me you're not running away. Tell me you're not taking this on by yourself, whatever 'this' may be."

Her heart broke, shattered into a million irreparable pieces. "I can't tell you that," Emily said frankly.

"Emily, _please._"

"He will kill you all!" she finally snapped. "And I can't have that happen. It's all my fault; all those years ago, I played him, made him love a person who I wasn't, and then he found out who the real me was, just in time for me to put him in jail...but time doesn't heal all wounds. He wants me _dead_, Aaron." A chill ran through Hotch's veins. "And he will stop at nothing to get what he wants, _believe me_."

"Tell me how I can help you." His hands caught her shoulders and squeezed. "You can't unload this onto me and expect me to sit idly," he said incredulously.

"That's just how you're going to help me," she countered, the expression in her eyes cold and hardened by harsh reality. "You'll keep the team from getting involved. You'll stay safe; you'll keep Jack safe. And if I come back," _if, not when,_ "you'll pretend none of this happened, and you'll take me back. Please."

"You're not giving me the full story, Em," Hotch lamented, and a single tear slid down his cheek.

"I can't," she said again.

Hotch's eyes flashed. "Why not?"

"Because...because I love you too much, that's why," Emily revealed, her eyes wide. "If I explained everything to you, and you got hurt or killed as a result, I wouldn't be able to live with myself, with the guilt. I love you too much to put you in that kind of danger, don't you understand?" Hotch's face fell, the skin covering his features weighed down with all sorts of emotions. His eyes burned as she reached out for him. "Aaron..."

He shook his head, and pulled her into his arms. She was warm, her skin supple and perfumed. "I love you, too," Hotch whispered. The words were so simple yet so hard to say in that very moment, so wrong and so right. For the life of him, he still didn't know the full story, still didn't know what was really going on with Emily; and it _hurt,_ the fact that he was unable to be by her side in every way. "God, I wish I could go back in time and tell you that everyday; not now when, by your recount, all hell is breaking loose."

"It is," she agreed, her tears wetting the skin of his collarbone.

"I love you, Emily." He closed his eyes. "And, as much as I want to fight it, you know I'd do anything to support you, in _anything_ you pursue." Her sobs increased in volume, causing his arms to tighten around her thin frame. "Just promise me one thing. Promise me you won't...you won't be gone for too long."

"Aaron, you know it's subjective," Emily said sadly, peering through long, damp lashes to look at him. "I don't _want_ to be gone for long, or even gone at all. But it all depends on how quickly I can locate him and bring him down." _Or how quickly he brings me down,_ she added grimly.

"Do you even know where to begin looking for him?" Silence. "Of course you do," Hotch said, more to himself than to anyone else. "And I don't suppose you'll tell me where you're going."

"You're right; I won't."

"Just stay safe," he pleaded, his voice nearly inaudible.

Emily nearly choked on her tears; she had never heard Hotch sound so broken, and she knew, the sound of his crying would be something that would haunt her for the rest of her days. "I'll try," she answered, letting go of her last semblance of strength. "Aaron, I'll try, but...I'm just so scared." It was an admission that shook him to his core; Emily Prentiss was _never_ scared.

Hotch yearned to soothe her fractured soul; he had never wanted anything more in his life. "Sweetheart..."

"Hold me?" she interrupted, her innocent and shaking voice in stark contrast to the gravity of the situation she would have to face soon. The air around them was thick with tension, but when his arms wrapped around her and he whispered into her ear that he would never let her go, nothing mattered anymore. Nothing mattered but the steady beating of his heart beneath her slender hand. "Just hold me."

"I can do you one better," he said, their fingers intertwining. And in less than a second, their lips had met and were moving together in an age-old dance that communicated the most serious and pure of emotions. One embrace would never be enough to show her how much he loved her, Hotch knew that much, but he continued kissing her, burning the feel of her body against his into his memory for the lonely days he uncannily felt would come.

And sadly, he was right. The way his kisses progressed into something more was enough to distract Emily from the guilt she knew she would feel in the morning - when she'd quietly slip out of his arms and into the darkness of a vigilante life, unseen.

* * *

**_-March 2011-_**

The tension in the air was stifling, absolutely disgusting. Both men circled each other like wild dogs, ready to attack at a moment's notice. They were each the epitome of an alpha male; and they made sure everyone knew that.

Straightening his tie, Hotch's hardened gaze met that of the Brit standing before him. "'October 2006'," he recited aloud, not even needing to look at the opened file before him. He didn't _want_ to look at the file, not when Emily's beautiful face peered back at him, not when her picture was paper-clipped to the manila folder as if she were a _victim_. Emily wouldn't have approved, not in the slightest. "'In closing, I have never worked with a finer agent than Emily Prentiss. Her skill at analyzing, predicting terrorist behavior is unparalleled.' Signed, name redacted." Hotch's eyes narrowed as Clyde crossed his arms over his chest. "You used all the right buzz words, told us everything we wanted to hear. You sold her to us the same way you sold Doyle to the North Koreans."

The venomous comparison made Clyde sick. "Just because you know the way I profile doesn't mean you know me," he countered, his voice low and almost dangerous.

Hotch cocked his head to the side, analyzing the other man with the utmost scrutiny as he walked forward. "It takes a skilled sociopath to betray his team, and the cause he held dear for self-preservation. If you cooperate with us, and we save Agent Prentiss, then _maybe_ we can talk about a deal." He swallowed thickly, his heart beating wildly in his ears. "But if anything happens to her," he growled, "I will _destroy_ you, you can count on that."

Clyde picked up on his words and the emotion behind them with interest. Something niggled at the corner of his thoughts, but he pushed it away, focusing instead on the task at hand. "She said you were the best. I'm unimpressed."

Clyde had not the slightest idea what kind of effect his recount of Emily's words had on him. "We'll get Doyle with or without you," Hotch said confidently, making his way to the door. "Pack lightly, Guantanamo gets humid."

The infuriating Brit actually laughed. "Nice try," he said derogatorily. "But, I'm curious - if I'm a sociopath, I should feel no empathy, correct?"

Hotch barely managed to bite back his smirk. "You're not the sociopath; Doyle is. I thought you were a better profiler." He was about to leave the small, dark interrogation room when the door he had been about to walk through opened, revealing JJ standing behind it. The slender blonde whispered something into Hotch's ear, then left without another word.

Slowly, Hotch turned on his heel to face Clyde once more.

"Did you know that Jeremy sold the list to Doyle?" He tried his best to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice; but when he was worrying about Emily, all bets were off about his emotions.

Clyde sighed. "I...had my suspicions."

"So, when you got to DC, you couldn't trust Tsia either." Slowly but surely, it was all making sense to Hotch. And that made him miss Emily all the more. "Prentiss read your doubt as duplicity, and so did we."

Clyde had that sickeningly smug smile on his face once more. "You could have just asked me who Doyle's plant was."

"Would you have told me?"

"No."

Hotch released a heavy breath, then pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Someone we both care about is in trouble." His voice was so much softer than Clyde had ever heard it; it shocked him into seriousness. "I need the original profile when Doyle was a terrorist. We combine that with who he is now as a serial killer."

But it wasn't that simple, and Clyde knew it. "Agent Hotchner, you took an oath to protect the laws of your country, and...I took one to protect the secrets in mine. Do you understand what you're asking?"

"I know it's not easy." _I'm sorry, Emily._

"I'll do it," Clyde said immediately, "if you join me. You see, there's no _ca__tching_ that man. He'll escape from your prison as easy as he did in North Korea, and then..._all hell breaks loose_." His words reminded Hotch of the conversation he'd had with Emily right before she had disappeared; right before she had left him in the middle of the night. "If you want to stop that man, you have to put a bullet between his eyes yourself. Can you do that?" A heavy pause. "Can you break your oath, Agent Hotchner?"

Hotch's answer was concise, pained. _"No,"_ he whispered.

"Can you take one then? Can you _swear_ that your team will save her?"

"Yes." The gazes of the two men met. There was something unspeakable hiding in the air around their heads, and both men had an idea as to what that 'something' was; they just didn't want to bring it up. Finally, when the screaming in his heart came to a noxious volume, Hotch could hold it in no longer. "You loved her, didn't you?"

"Yes." _I still do, _he wanted to say; but it had been five years since he had last seen her, and as head over heels he was, to any other man it would have looked pathetic. Clyde's heart wrenched as he took in the expression on Hotch's face. "You did, too." It wasn't a question.

"And I always will."

Jealousy burned deep in Clyde's gut. Of course Emily had moved on; it only made sense, he tried telling himself. But try as he might, all he could see in his mind's eye was Emily, leaning coyly against the balcony of their Paris hotel, beckoning him forward with a single enchanting curve of her lips.

Before Clyde realized what he was saying, the words were spilling forth of their own volition. "You know, it's funny," he said humorlessly, "even after all these years, whenever I think of Emily, the most vivid thing I remember is her smile. I'm sure you know, a job like ours comes with its fair share of God awful days, days when you don't want to even _move_ because of something so gruesome you saw just hours before. Emily's smile always made that better for me, made it easier to cope. It was always my favorite part of her." Then he shrugged and scoff a little to himself. "I don't know why I'm telling you this." His tone was obviously bitter. "This situation we're in...it's beyond strange."

Hotch agreed, but said nothing in relation. Only this: "My favorite part of her is her eyes," he said, his voice giving away no emotion - only fondness. "So dark and mysterious," he mused aloud. "And when I'd gaze into them, she'd give me the one thing I'd always needed: hope." Hotch shook his head. "That's what she needs from..._us_...right now," he bit out. _"Hope_. We'll get her back and she'll be safe."

But even JJ, once again standing in the doorway with a message for Clyde, could hear the shaky uncertainty in her former Unit Chief's voice. She cleared her throat gently, not wanting to disturb _whatever_ the two men had been engaging in. A battle of wits, maybe. "The British Consul's here."

Clyde gave Hotch a sideways glance, then allowed himself to relax only slightly in the chair he was seated in. He had made his decision; _for Emily. _"Could you tell him I'll be right out? I'm...consulting with the BAU on a case."

The two men looked at each other, the desire for competition still there between them. But finally, pushing aside their differences - and their startling similarities -, Hotch stuck his hand out for the other man to shake. They would be anything but civil down the road; but neither of them could care less.

* * *

**_-March 2011-_**

"Everybody thinks I'm dead, don't they?"

Hotch pressed his lips to the underside of her wrist, reveling in the feel of her pulse thrumming beneath her soft skin. He didn't want to have to answer her; it would only make her more depressed, more self-loathing. But as her hand cupped the side of his face, forcing his gaze to meet hers, he had no choice but to respond. His voice was weary. "Yes."

"Everybody?" Emily asked again, more incredulously this time. "You're...you're the only one who knows the truth?"

"JJ knows," Hotch disclosed. "But everyone else..."

"Even my parents? Even Strauss?" Her heart was slowing to a sure stop with every word that fell from her chapped lips. _Even Clyde?_ she wanted to ask; but that would bring nothing but frustration and grim confusion to both her and Hotch. They didn't need that; they needed love, they needed each other. "And the team?"

"Yes." Carefully, so as not to hurt her, Hotch wrapped his arms around her waist tenderly, resting his head on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Emily," he whispered.

"If anyone should be sorry, it's me," Emily corrected, her doe eyes wide. "I'm the one that put you all through this and risked your lives; I'm the one making you suffer," she lamented, her body trembling even beneath the hospital bed sheets.

"_Don't_. Don't say that. None of this is your fault." He leaned in for a sweet kiss; their last kiss for a very long time. "You were being you, putting Declan first and yourself second. He's _safe_, Emily," Hotch said when he saw the worried look on her face. "Everyone you've fought for is safe."

"You can't know that for sure," she argued, her voice rising slightly as panic began to set in. "Doyle is still out there; he could hunt anyone one of you at any time."

"He thinks you're dead, Emily." Unbidden, mental images of Emily lying broken and bleeding on the dirty warehouse floor came to mind. He could almost taste the bitter tang of metal in the air. She had lost _so much blood..._it was a miracle she was even alive. "And, as much as I hate to say it, it's better that way. He'll be unsuspecting when you take him down." He swallowed thickly. "I just wish you didn't have to do it alone."

Outside the doorway, JJ flashed the two a pointed look. It escaped neither of their attention.

"How much more time do we have?" Emily asked tinily. She was almost afraid to know the answer; no matter the length of time, it would always be too short. When she had been in Boston, she had missed her friends - no, _her family_ - more than she could have ever imagined she would. And now, now that she had to escape once more...

It killed her inside.

Hotch frowned. Emily's voice was still raspy; her throat still burned from the breathing tube that had been inserted long ago. _Is she in too much pain? _he wondered. Even if he asked, he knew she would brush it off and play it down. She was and had always been so unbelievably stubborn; and if he was honest with himself, Hotch knew it was one of the qualities that had made him fall in love with her in the first place.

Again, JJ walked past.

"Less than five minutes," Hotch said, a moan rattling about in the back of his throat. "Sweetheart, listen to me," he said hurriedly. "No matter what you do or where you are, I want you to know that you'll never be alone; I'll be right here, waiting for you, calling out for you to come home safe." He wasn't crying, but he came damn near close to doing so. "Always know that _I love you so much._"

In the compact hospital room, the ominous ticking of the clock seemed surreally loud. It made Emily's heart quicken; or maybe her heart had quickened because of the emotions she saw shining in her lover's dark, dark eyes. "I love you, too, Aaron. More than you'll ever know." She fisted a hand into his shirt. "I don't want to leave you."

"Neither do I," Hotch said simply, afraid that if he tried to say anything more, he would lose all control, all composure.

But Emily was saying so much more. "No, you don't understand; that's not what I'm saying. What if...what if you came with me?"

His breath caught sharply. "Emily, you know it's not safe."

"You said it yourself! Doyle thinks I'm dead!"

"For safety precautions, all of which would be useless if you were to tell me or anyone else where you're going! Emily, put yourself first for once," he practically begged.

_"I am__," _she said, clutching at his shirt even tighter than before. "I'm tired of running away, Aaron. I've had to say goodbye too many times, to too many people that I love." She stifled the sobs that threatened to wrack her body. And then: "Paris," she whispered, an impassioned look in her eyes. "I'm going to Paris."

"Shhhhh, Emily."

"Do you remember how scared I was when I came to your apartment all those months ago, and told you that Doyle had escaped from North Korea? Do you remember the nightmares I told you about? Those nightmares are my reality now. As much as I want to deny it, I can't do this alone." She was giving up, and Hotch had never been more frightened. "I'll have a different identity; I'll look completely different. No one will recognize me if they see me on the streets! Please, Aaron; _I need you."_

Yearning to hold her close and never let her go, Hotch gazed at her for a second longer before reluctantly rising from the bed. "I make no promises," he said softly.

"But?" The hope in her voice caught him around the heart.

"But...but I'll try my hardest to join you sometime, and I won't stop at nothing until I do." Hotch leaned over her until their foreheads were touching. "I love you, Emily Prentiss. Don't ever forget that."

Emily's resolve was crumbling, and crumbling fast. "I don't want to say goodbye," she whimpered.

"So don't. This isn't goodbye, after all." Taking a deep breath to steady himself and give him the much needed strength to walk away, Hotch was at the door when Emily called out to him one more time.

"Aaron?"

He turned, unsure if he'd be able to look at her and _not_ run back and lift her into his arms. "Yes, my love?" he asked, his voice understandably shaky.

The simple but oh so sweet endearment caused yet another tear to fall from the corner of her eye. "I love you, too."

Hotch left her with one last smile. "I know."

* * *

_**-September 2011-**_

Clyde was at a nameless cafe, picking at his tasteless lunch, when he saw it.

The morning's breaking news was replaying and was crowded with stories of the death of Ian Doyle, the gun-runner with connections to the IRA that was shot to death by Chloe Donaghy, the mother of his own beloved son. Two other casualties included Chloe, herself, and Lachlan McDermott. Clyde recognized the names, but that wasn't what he was focused on. He watched with rapt attention, his fork clattering to the table as a certain camera frame caught his eye.

The story had shifted over to another scene, another day; the BAU, the very team Clyde had consulted with before quitting the job he had previously held so dear, was crowded around a jet's airstairs, at the bottom of which stood a certain brunette agent that looked startlingly like -

Her name flashed in white letters at the bottom of the screen as the newscasters spoke animatedly about _Emily Prentiss, back from the dead_. And it was her, flanked by her parents and a mass of security. One bold news anchor ran up to the ever stoic Agent Hotchner, standing right behind Emily, and asked him for a comment, a statement, _anything._

But whether or not Hotch answered the reporter, Clyde didn't know; leaving several bills on the table to cover his tab, he rushed out of the restaurant in a split second, his heart pounding as the images he had just seen flashed before his eyes.

_Emily was still_ alive.

The fact that he had been lied to didn't even bother him. He was professional enough to understand that certain measures had had to have been taken in order to ensure Emily's safety; and in the end, that was all that mattered to him. His heart knew that much. But as he turned the key in his ignition and sped off down the road, breaking several traffic laws in the process, Clyde only thought of one thing: the address he had visited along with several of the BAU agents, in search of more evidence. _Emily's _address.

The news he had seen in the restaurant had been from earlier that morning, or maybe even from the day before; and while Clyde should have been upset that no one had bothered to contact him about Emily in the time that had passed, instead, he was happy. Since the coverage hadn't been live, there was still a good chance that Emily would be at her apartment, giving him the perfect chance to speak to her.

The problem was, he didn't even know what to say. He wanted to yell at her for being so reckless and taking on Doyle by herself. He wanted to ask her countless questions, just so he could hear her sweet voice at least one more time. He wanted to tell her he loved her.

With that last thought on his mind, his foot pressed down on the gas even harder.

* * *

_**-September 2011-**_

"I missed you_ so_ much."

"I'm here now." Emily arched into his reverent touch as Hotch swept her dark green blouse over her head. Her head fell back against the pillow as a pair of skilled fingers undid the front clasp of her black lace bra and threw it to the ground. "Oh, Aaron..."

Hotch bit down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so overwhelmed. "Yeah, babe?" His voice was low and deliciously so; it set a fire roaring beneath Emily's skin.

"Make love to me," she panted, her warm breath tickling the shell of his ear. "Like we did in France. Remember?" She moaned as the pad of his thumb swept across a rosy nipple, bringing it into a hardened peak in a heartbeat. "With the windows opened to the streets below, and with the white lace curtains billowing in the cool wind..."

"How could I forget?" Their lips found each other once more, and danced together in a passionate flurry. "That night...was absolutely...perfect." Twining his fingers in her silken hair, he tilted her head back until the base of her neck was exposed. And then, his torturously beautiful ministrations began.

Emily was practically screaming out in ecstasy when, through the commotion of panting breaths, moans, cries, and pleas for more, Hotch heard a knock on the apartment door. He was so tempted to ignore it, especially when Emily seemed to have been oblivious to the sound, but the knocking persisted; and Hotch couldn't bring himself to blame the person behind the door. No doubt they'd seen the news and rejoiced at the fact Emily was alive; _of course_ they'd want to see her with their own two eyes.

Sighing and tearing himself away from Emily's addictive lips, he pushed himself up on his elbows, and eventually, into a seating position. Emily pouted prettily beside him. "Can't we ignore whoever it is, Aaron? I just want to _feel_ you...it's been too long."

"I know, Em, but...whoever it is seems awfully persistent." They shared a quick laugh, pulling on as few clothes as they could while still remaining decent. "I know you don't want to talk to just anyone; I'll go see who it is, how about that?"

"Thank you," she said in response, hanging back by the door to her bedroom.

Running a hand through his disheveled hair, Hotch strode to the front door and opened it without fanfare - only to come face to face with the very last person he expected.

"Agent Easter," Hotch said, barely able to mask the surprise in his voice. _Talk about a cold shower_, his conscience said mockingly. "Uh...how are you?"

Meanwhile, Clyde's heart was sinking as he took in Hotch's appearance. He hadn't factored in_ the other man_ while thinking over what he'd say to Emily, that much was sure. And now that a confrontation of sorts had been forced upon them by some sick twist of fate, Clyde didn't know how to react. "I'm marginally better, considering the news I just heard," he finally answered, unconsciously tapping his foot against the hardwood floor outside the room. "Is, uh, Emily there, by chance?" _Since this is her apartment? Oh, God._ "I'd like to talk to her about something."

Hotch shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. He hadn't been prepared for this in the least; he didn't know what to say. Luckily for him, however, he didn't have to say a word. Emily beat him to the punch.

"Clyde?" Her eyes were wide, her voice breathless as she stepped forward. "Oh my God, what are you doing here?"

He drank her in greedily, burning to memory the vision that stood before him. Dark hair, shorter than he ever remembered it being, porcelain skin that was undoubtedly still as soft as he remembered, full red lips..._swollen_ red lips. His heart wrenched. "All this time, I thought you were dead. And then, an hour or two ago, on the news..." His voice trailed away. "It is so good to see you."

And just like that, Emily found herself in Clyde's arms.

Hotch stood off the side, his eyes wary as he watched the scene before him. He had known Clyde had loved Emily. But this? This proved something else entirely.

Emily pulled back slightly, her eyes watering as she gave Clyde a small smile. "It's good to see you, too." Age had treated him well, what with the defined lines on his face, the hint of stubble on his chin, the full head of hair; hair that she distinctly remembered running her fingers through as he pressed her up against the wall to their hotel, and kissed her with never-ending fervor. What she failed to notice, however, was the immediate change in his demeanor; with Emily still in his arms, Clyde could see the beginning of the love bite on her neck, could smell musk and _Hotch_ on her skin. He had been such a fool to think she would have saved her heart for him. Such a fool!

Emily gave his hand a squeeze. "You, uh, you told Aaron you had something to tell me?" she reminded.

_Aaron._ Hearing his given name on her luscious lips made Clyde sick. Instead of telling her what he had long yearned to tell her, he simply shook his head. "It's nothing," he bit out, his smile tight. "I just wanted to see you, after all these years."

But Emily could tell something was up; she could tell he was hiding something from her. "Clyde..."

"Really, Emily." The sideways glance toward Hotch gave him away, however.

Turning slowly to face the man who had stolen her heart for good, Emily shot Hotch a quick yet gorgeous smile. "Aaron, do you think...you could give us a minute alone?"

As much as he wanted to say no, Hotch knew how much the other man had meant to her in the past. With just a nod, he stepped out of the room, leaving the two former JTF-12 agents to themselves. Emily cocked her head to the side, her dark brown eyes meeting his pale blue ones. "What is it, Clyde? I've always had this knack for knowing when you're not telling me the truth; surely you remember."

"I do. But I don't want to tell you, Emily. It would do nothing but conflict things; and you're happy where you are now. I wouldn't want to ruin that for you," he said, his voice resignedly quiet.

Emily didn't have to ask any more questions. Just from the look in his eyes, she knew what he was hiding from her; three little words that would change everything. And he was right, she was happy. She didn't want things to change, not at all. Sighing, she finally downcast her gaze. "I'm sorry," she whispered simply.

"Don't be. I shouldn't have thought...I mean, it's been five years..."

"Five long years."

"Yeah." Taking in a deep breath, Clyde sighed as well and rose to his full height. "Anyway, I should probably go."

"Are you sure?" Emily bit her bottom lip unsurely. "I mean, you could stay for a little while. We could talk more."

"Maybe another day, if you'll let me buy you lunch." Clyde's hand was already on the door. "Goodbye, Emily. I'm...so unbelievably glad you're safe."

"Thank you. I..." Her voice broke. "Goodbye." Walking forward, she closed the distance between them and surprised him with a barely-there kiss to his cheek. "Lunch someday sounds great." That made Clyde smile.

And just like that, he stepped into the hallway once more and closed the door on his way out, leaving a flummoxed, emotional Emily behind him. Emily wasn't alone for more than a second before Hotch was standing by her, taking her hand in his. Silence lapsed between them, heavy with thoughts of the past.

Finally, Hotch spoke. "He was the one, wasn't he?" Emily looked at him confusedly. "When you were in the hospital, you told me that you've had to say goodbye to too many people you've loved. You were talking about Clyde."

"Maybe." Emily swallowed thickly as Hotch wrapped his arms around her and enveloped her in a much-needed bear hug. "Yes."

Shaking slightly, Hotch asked the one question that had been on his mind since the very beginning. "Do you still love him?"

Their gazes met. "I missed him. I missed his friendship and his partnership. I loved him once. But do I still love him?" She sighed. "No. I don't believe I do. I'll tell you one thing, though." She rose on her tiptoes to kiss him on the mouth. "All I know for sure in this world is that I love you, and that I don't want to have a future unless you're in it. Some might call that bold, but -"

Hotch silenced her with yet another kiss, then lifted her into his arms. "Some might call that crazy, but I call it love."

**THE END.**

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**Author's Note: ****************Reviews are love. _Please_ tell me what you think! ****There's nothing I love more than hearing from you guys, so please don't be shy. **No account needed!


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